


Two Roads, One Moment

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mensa, Amnesia, Episode: s02e12 Epiphany, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-22
Updated: 2007-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dr. John Sheppard was trapped in the time dilation field, rescue never came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Roads, One Moment

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Mensa AU story exchange from a prompt by very_rotten. Thank you to elynross for doing the beta.

  
The Hostan called him 'Elan.' Jular said it was the first word he said after he was discovered lying naked in the tall grass by the well. But these people, these grey-clad travelers, believed him to be someone else: Major Sheppard John.  
  
The name felt odd on his tongue, and in his thoughts. He looked at Jular, who appeared just as bewildered as Elan felt. Carefully folding his hands on the table, Elan looked at the odd group before him: Teyla, the quiet, severe woman with her dark hair confined in row after row of small, tight braids, and her wide, luminous eyes; Ronon, the giant of a man with his scruffy beard and mane, the glint of steel in his hair and at his wrist; and Rod, the nervous, pale man who smiled too much, and whose true feelings were writ in the sweat on his neck and the twisting play of his hands as he spoke.  
  
Many of the brothers lived lives of silence, and so Elan had learned the language of unspoken thoughts. The bodies of these people all spoke of loss, and of their reliance on each other. They were warriors, comrades in arms despite their differences. Elan was fascinated, and a little repelled. They were so different from the brotherhood, most of whom labored in the gardens or in the libraries, combing their history for the secrets of the Ancients.  
  
He couldn't see how his quiet life could mesh with the world of these strangers. "How long has he been missing, your major?"  
  
"Over six months," Rod said, his gaze searching Elan's face with a quiet desperation. "You ended up in a time dilation field, and by the time we found a way in to rescue you, you were gone."  
  
"A day was as a year to you," Teyla said. "And it took us many days to find a way in."  
  
Elan noticed the way Rod winced at her words. Fascinating. "So why did you come here?"  
  
"We were contacted by an emissary from Chaya of Proculus, who said that we would find you here."  
  
"He said you'd ascended." Ronon's voice rumbled in the small meeting room, and Elan could swear the table shook under his fingers. "But you couldn't follow the rules."  
  
"Which is ridiculous, since you're a born rule-follower." Rod said, the tremble in his voice giving lie to his teasing tone. "Though it is true that you never met a rule you didn't feel you could improve in some way."  
  
Teyla hesitantly laid her hand on Rod's, as if the gesture were new to her, a tight line creasing her forehead. "We were told that you would remember nothing. That you could not bring with you the memories of your time with the Ancients."  
  
Elan shook his head. "What an amazing tale." It was all so strange. It was true that the brothers' rules, the daily structure of their lives, gave him comfort. It was also true that he had no memory of anything before waking at Summer's Dawn to the sound of Jular's voice. To change his life in the way the strangers requested, to walk away from the Hostans and go through the gate of the Ancestors to their world... It seemed inconceivable, taking far more strength and trust than Elan knew himself to have.  
  
Jular squeezed Elan's shoulders. "Our hour is nearly up, brother."  
  
"I am sorry," Elan said, pushing himself back from the table. "I can see that you miss your fourth very much, but I have no memories of you." He held his hands out palm up in farewell. "I wish you luck in finding him."  
  
As he turned for the door, Rod lunged across the table to grab his wrist. "John."  
  
Anger, fear, and wild longing raced through Elan at his touch. "Yes?" Elan said carefully, his body shaking inside. He didn't remember ever feeling like this before; perhaps...perhaps his body remember something that Elan did not.  
  
"If I could have a few minutes--" Rod glanced at Jular expectantly.  
  
"You wish to speak with Elan alone."  
  
"Yes. Please." The smiling congeniality was gone, and Rod's eyes and voice were filled with pain. "I need to--" His hand twisted in a circular motion, one that, were he were of the brotherhood, might indicate the passage of years. "There's something I need to say."  
  
Jular looked at Elan, who flexed his third finger to indicate his agreement.  
  
"Very well," Jular said. "But your companions must stay here. Elan can take you to his cell, and you may speak in private there."  
  
"His cell?" Rod looked aghast, while one of Ronon's hands brushed perilously close to one of his concealed knives.  
  
"Where I sleep," Elan said, projecting calm thoughts. "All the brothers have cells to sleep in."  
  
"Oh." Rod's voice quavered. Ronon's hand fell away from his weapon, and Elan took a deep breath.  
  
"Follow me," he said, not looking as Rod fell into step behind him.  
  
The walk through the stone halls was quiet. Jular escorted them to the central courtyard, then turned down the library path while Elan continued on to his quarters. His was the third down the hallway, with a window that caught the morning sun. He left the door open behind him and sat down on his cot, leaving the wooden chair for his guest.  
  
Rod glanced around, and Elan tried to see his room as a stranger would, with the rag rug on the floor and the sparse hand-made furnishings: cot, washstand, desk, and chair. There were no frills here, no bright colors, just the natural colors of wood, stone, undyed cloth, and clay.  
  
"Looks just like your quarters back home." Rod's voice faltered on the final word.  
  
Elan shrugged. "A neat room reflects an organized mind."  
  
"That's what you always say." Rod grinned, and for a moment, Elan could see the true person behind his smile--someone much less confident than the image he wanted to project. Rod picked up the chair and set it down by Elan, but he did not sit in it. Instead, he stood behind it, as if the chair would protect him from some hidden danger.  
  
Elan wished he knew what was going on. "You wanted to talk to me?"  
  
"Uh, yes." Rod took a deep breath, and pulled a thin leather packet from his pocket. "I brought these in case--" He shook his head. "Never mind."  
  
"Sit, please." Elan said, indicating the chair.  
  
"Oh, right." Rod hunch forward as soon as he sat down, the leather wallet dangling between his fingers. "I want you to take a look at these and tell me what you think. Take your time!" he said as Elan glanced at the first image of a bright-haired woman and some children. "The ones you want are later on."  
  
Elan flipped through the first few images--more of the woman, a red-haired dog, and another bright-haired woman--until he got to a set that seemed to have him in them. A different him--a man with long, lank hair and a crisp grey uniform just like the strangers wore. Only... Elan stared hard at the image. Not exactly like them. The man in the picture had a cloth coat, fastened with tabs of blue. He was standing in front of a long table, and his expression was tight and pinched. He didn't look happy.  
  
"You'd just lost the chess tournament," Rod said, as if that meant something to Elan. "You remember chess, right?"  
  
Elan shook his head. "No."  
  
He flipped to the next. The not-him was in a settlement, sitting at a table next to Teyla. He wore dark glasses, and his face was pinched while Teyla's face, where it could be seen behind her concealing hand, was darkened in anger.. "What happened here?"  
  
"Oh, uhm, it's the morning after the Athosian harvest festival. I think you were both hung over."  
  
"Hung over?"  
  
"Too much drinking the night before."  
  
"Ah." Elan closed the wallet and started to hand it back to Rod, who hurriedly made 'no, no, go on' gestures. Elan sighed heavily. "These images mean nothing to me. I am not the person you are looking for." He gestured at his cell. "This is who I am now. If I was ever your major, he's no longer within me. You should probably go."  
  
"No, wait. No. I can't-- Here." Rod snatched the pictures out of Elan's hand, quickly fumbling through them until he seemed to find what he was looking for. "Here, this one. Look at it. Don't you remember?"  
  
Rod and his major leaned side-by-side against a large silver ship in the fading evening light. They were turned slightly toward one another, and Rod's major had his head tipped back, his lips crinkled up in a small laugh, while Rod stared at him with a true smile gracing his lips. There was something about the way they stood... Elan felt the tickle of something like a memory at the clear connection between them, at the warmth and vulnerability on both of their faces. This picture was more recent, Elan was sure of that.  
  
Rod walked to the window and looked out. "The ship is, ah, classified , but I thought you might remember them. You love to fly."  
  
Elan said nothing as he looked over the picture. He had seen images of the Ancestors' ships before, and knew that this one was a gateship; part of him leapt at the thought of seeing one in person, should he go back. But more than that, the happiness on the men's faces called to him, told him to leave his safe life with the Hostans and follow this strange group. Would not the chance of that happiness be worth a little risk?  
  
He tapped the image and nodded. "I will go."  
  
Rod's smile was both true and brilliant as Elan handed the pictures back. 


End file.
